


Premiere Night

by luxurypurses, Myrida



Series: The Wonderful, Kinky and Romantic Love Story of Elim Garak and Ekor Laset [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Ageing Lizard Men, Cardassian psyche and memory, Cardassian wordiness, Cardassians, Dom/sub, Egregious misuse of a conductor's baton, Elim Garak is a sub and we all know it, Established Relationship, Inventing Cardassian Music, M/M, Middle-aged lizards being soft and excellent with each other, Post-Canon Cardassia, Sentiment, Sub!Garak, Submissive Garak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxurypurses/pseuds/luxurypurses, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrida/pseuds/Myrida
Summary: Fifteen years after the end of the Dominion War, Cardassia is poised to return to the musical stages of the quadrant. Ekor Laset, conductor in chief of the New Cardassian State Orchestra, and Elim Garak, his long-time husband and consenting property, are preparing for the grand reopening of the Tret Akleen Concert Hall. Throughout the evening, in true Cardassian associative manner, they remember and re-live their journey together, their hardships and their becoming.





	1. Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> This story was created as part of an ongoing text-based roleplaying thread on tumblr. We are both very much in love with these two characters together, and we decided they deserve their own story.
> 
> Elim's parts were written by sallysorrell, and Ekor's parts were written by Myrida, although we both have a tendency to forgo strict roleplaying rules in favour of co-creating the overall flow. This enabled us to have only few hard POV shifts, and the time jumps typical for paragraph roleplaying were almost easy to linearise.
> 
> We hope you like the result, please enjoy!
> 
> If you're curious about them, please feel free to find them on tumblr!  
> Elim is at [garaksass](https://garaksass.tumblr.com/interactions)  
> Ekor is at [conducting-cardassia](https://conducting-cardassia.tumblr.com/about)

Enough time had passed for Elim to return from the station to Cardassia, leaving the home he and Ekor had made there for an entirely new one, as Ekor’s home-city was one of many destroyed in the war. Both of them mourned the loss of the house they would never _know_ \- certainly, Ekor had seen it and lived in it, but he would never _know_ the feeling of coming home to find Elim there, to find him reclining in the sun outside, or working tirelessly to revive the garden, or cleaning and making their meals, or sleeping beside him in the private bedroom. But, like everyone else, they would find another way to _exist._

Now, they rented a modest but trendy top-floor apartment in a quiet outskirt of the city, just a short tram ride from the concert hall where Ekor did most of his work. He did not often tour, anymore, for Elim’s sake, with so much to be done now that they were _home_ , and together.

Ekor’s illustrious past, and indeed his return to the Cardassian stage, took the attention of many local dignitaries, all concentrated together in the aftermath of war, in one of only a few fully reconstructed districts. There was much anticipation on the premiere of his first concert run, where he would conduct several of his own compositions, some traditional pieces, and one he had repeatedly dedicated, rewritten, and re-dedicated to his Elim, entitled _The Convict’s Lament_. It was eerie and harmonious, and Elim was promised a chance to hear it from the stage-wing; it was set to be played as Ekor’s encore, after what he expected to be a record length of applause from people who were desperate to outdo one another. The outcome suited him just fine, however, and he told Elim as much when they were preparing for the night.

“You… want me to wait for you _how_ , Sir?” Elim asked, as he powdered his hair for himself. Ekor was occupied with his own preparations tonight, and Elim did not mind the lack of attention, for now.

Something in Ekor’s reply told him he would have _all_ the attention he needed, come concert-time. He went back into the wardrobe-room to dress himself, selecting his own suit for the night, something intentionally loose and flowing, both elegant and easy to undo.

Ekor smiled as he took a moment to watch Elim prepare for the night. Elim’s scales were gleaming, emphasising the gentle slope of his neck ridges beautifully on display for his viewing pleasure. Almost involuntarily, Ekor licked his lips as he took him in. He knew Elim luxuriated in the prospect of being seen in public, while at the same time playing out a very private game for him.

“You look riveting tonight, my little pet,” Ekor said, leaning in to place a slow kiss on the sensitive ridge.

They did not take the tram to the hall, no. They hired a skimmer, privately, so they could sit together in the backseat, with the curtain drawn to the driver’s compartment. Ordinarily, Elim would sit in Ekor’s lap, but tonight, they merely sat close together, and Ekor worked out any of his nerves by rubbing Elim’s arm. It was not so intimate a touch, but Elim bent and submitted to it nonetheless, allowing Ekor to take whatever he needed. He understood, then, what Ekor had requested earlier.

“I will be _ready_ for you then, Sir,” he promised quietly, “prepared for you to take me as hard and fast as you must. Oh, you will be so _radiant_ tonight, Sir; I will love to watch you work. That alone will… stir me, Sir. Oh…” his voice trailed off, as Ekor took his chin in his hand, toying with the ridge in _just_ the way Elim adored, rewarding him with a soft little kiss there.

Their attraction could not escalate any further, however. Ekor still had a job to do, and Elim had a night of holding himself up to the highest possible standards in his keeper’s absence. And, besides, it might enhance the upcoming _need_ if they made themselves wait. Elim was going to go about the crowd, shaking hands with important people, complimenting a few outfits, reminiscing fondly about his and Ekor’s meeting - it was the most frequent question they got, especially from those who did not truly understand the nature of their bonding - and then he would retire to the wing just in time for the start of the final song, to get himself in the correct mindset once more.

He thought it was the most romantic idea Ekor had planned for them in years.

The first years after the Fire - the cataclysmic end of the Dominion war - had been some of the hardest in Ekor’s and Elim’s lives. They had returned to Cardassia and had found her in devastation and ruin, beaten and raped beyond recognition.

But for their shared quarters on the Federation-run space station Deep Space Nine - although he sometimes still caught himself thinking of it as Terok Nor - Ekor had been homeless ever since the razing of Lakarian. Once they were back on Cardassian soil, Elim and he had returned to Lakarian together: Ekor needed to see. And although he knew, rationally, what awaited him, knowing it and seeing it were two different things altogether.

It wasn’t that there was simply _nothing_ there; that would have been easier to bear. Where his house had once stood, they found the rubble and ruin, the remnants that were left after the Dominion had rained death and destruction upon them to punish them for Gul Damar’s defiance. Ekor had found bits and pieces of his possessions, shards of wood and metal, his collection of musical instruments strewn about with all the rubble.

The air had still been toxic then, and inside his protective mask, Ekor had been frozen, numb with the shock of reality. Elim had been there with him, and although he couldn’t possibly have seen his face, he must have known. He gently took Ekor’s arm and led him away.

In the privacy of the tiny makeshift apartment they were living in at the time (assigned to them by the Federation relief effort), Ekor had collapsed into Elim’s arms, ripped apart by pain unlike anything he had ever felt before.

He had come from poverty, and the Fire had claimed his whole existence. Not only had he lost his house and most of his possessions, but he had lost his work, his livelihood. He was left, as were so many Cardassians, utterly precarious: back then, naturally, nobody in the remnants of the Cardassian Union needed a conductor. There was no music, no stage, no cultural life whatsoever, as Cardassia’s people fought for survival.

In the years that followed, Ekor toured the quadrant, taking assignments to work as guest conductor, giving solo concerts whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was hard on Elim, demanding much, but not as hard as he was on himself. And Elim understood this, subjecting himself willingly to the harsh regime Ekor enforced. Elim stood by him in steadfast support, even though Ekor struggled to provide for him the way he had pledged on the night they became bonded.

To their relief, the Federation provided plenty of alien audiences willing to support the revival of Cardassian cultural life, and so, those years as they travelled between Cardassia and the remotest outskirts of the alpha quadrant, became Ekor’s second great success. Little by little, Ekor rebuilt.

Eventually, as Cardassia slowly began to regain her independence, issues of culture and art started to become a priority once more, and Ekor was asked to take up his old duties as the conductor in chief of the Cardassian State Orchestra. It was never a question whether he would accept or not: finally, he was able once more to serve the Union the way he had been trained.

Ekor and Elim settled into a city apartment, and Ekor set to work on rebuilding the orchestra, counselling on the reconstruction of concert halls and the reopening of the Conservatoire as side projects.

He worked hard, but it was satisfying, and Elim became his rock, never wavering in his support. One day, they smiled at one another as Elim knelt at his feet waiting for him to finish his dinner, and realised they were _happy_.

And tonight… Tonight was the grand reopening of the new Tret Akleen Concert Hall, Ekor’s home stage, and for the first time in years, Ekor felt his nerves. His stomach was tight and he felt his throat as he breathed, as if it was his very first public concert again. He quietly leaned into Elim at his side on the back seat of the skimmer that was bringing them to tonight’s venue.

He knew once he was up at his stand, the tension would dissipate, but for now it held him well in its grasp. There was no real use fighting it, so he simply focused on the music in his mind, reminding himself of the little idiosyncrasies of his orchestra and how and when he needed to react. The remainder was a question of experience, and he trusted his.

“Sweet one,” he said softly as they came up to their destination, “thank you for your service.” He kissed Elim on the lips the way he liked so much, adding, “make sure I find you in position and _ready_. I _will_ need you.”

For a long time, Elim had felt confident in his ability to keep to himself, even when it brought him some sense of guilt. It was much the same now - he could not even _think_ of complaining that he and Ekor had not been as physically close, lately, when many citizens still starved and froze in the streets, and would never be properly buried. What were his problems, compared to _that_? There was a quiet solitude to Ekor, too, when they had visited his former home in Lakarian and found shards of his instruments, where they had _planned_ to find a comfortable nest to make their own.

He knew he could always confide in Ekor, but the fact was, Ekor had not often been home. And when he was, he preferred peace. Elim often knelt on one of his cushions and considered Ekor while he would play and make notes on his compositions. He’d set his chin atop folded hands, and he would say nothing. He wanted to offer Ekor whatever he needed, even when he found it difficult. Ekor had made an identical promise when they first came together, to provide for Elim and _cherish_ him in such elaborate ways he had never dreamed of, even though Elim was resistant, then, and had a hard time bending to fill his role. If Ekor could be steady back then, surely it was Elim’s turn now; he completed all of his tasks quietly and to Ekor’s standards, always.

While Ekor was offworld earning his living, Elim remained on Cardassia, providing whatever physical labor he could to the relief efforts, writing to their friend Dr. Bashir often in search of both legitimate and off-the-books assistance, and _waiting_. Ekor would come home and hold him, make sure he was fed, and then they would go to sleep in their mutual exhaustion, and that was all. There was no love lost, no resentment, there just was not _time_.

But now, with the concert venue rebuilt, and attention turning to strengthening morale instead of mortar, Elim found he could indulge in his former pleasures once more. He listened with increasing excitement when Ekor worked each evening, and talked without guilt about the event, the people they would introduce each other to, the luxuries they could take now that their livelihood was secure.

When they arrived at Tret Akleen that evening, Elim cleared his mind of all of this, and focused solely on his service. They stepped from the car, and pressed their foreheads together before going their separate ways - the separation would only be temporary, Elim had to remind himself - and then Ekor kissed him.

“I will make you proud tonight, Sir,” Elim assured, as they parted, with Ekor turning to find the stage door.

It took Elim quite some time to make it through the reception area and all the way to his assigned seat in the first row. Many people stopped him, some to genuinely thank him for the work he had done, some merely to be _seen_ shaking hands with him, and still others to deposit little gifts and favors to find their way to the conductor - bouquets of decent quality, jars of decadent _tilern_ jam, traditionally tied to the arts for centuries. He found he did not mind being in the public eye, anymore, as Ekor was always with him in one way or another. When they were not actually walking together, their arms primly linked, he would be sure to flash his cuff from beneath his sleeve, which bore Ekor’s name, and speak at length about his bondmate’s merits until the company grew impatient and left. It was his favorite thing to do.

At last, he sat and studied the curtain panels, and even though his hearing was poor - worse than Ekor’s to begin with, and further dulled by his age - he tried and focused and ultimately _imagined_ he could hear Ekor tapping his podium from behind the curtains, commanding attention as he always did. It was his very essence to dominate, and Elim felt a little tingle in his fingertips, in anticipation of it all. He was going to listen with the same intensity to all of the pieces, every word that left Ekor’s lips, and he was going to be _ready_ to receive him. He was dreaming up a list of excuses already, a possible route from his seat to the stage-wing, the precise measure of music in which he would begin loosening his belt. Oh, this was _exciting_ , and he understood exactly how much Ekor needed it, needed to re-associate with his _passion_ ; it had been pain for too long.


	2. Tret Akleen Grand Reopening

Yes, this was it. The curtains parted, revealing the seated orchestra, and Ekor, standing in front of them. 

Ekor gazed down into a hall full of people sitting in their assigned seats, waiting in respectful silence. On Cardassia, applause was never given in advance, a tradition that was not widely shared across the quadrant – most concerts off-world started with a round of applause when the musicians took the stage. Not so now: on Cardassia, the stage was but a backdrop, a blank page on which the artist was supposed to create his or her piece. Applause would come then, but there was no ritual of entering the stage: when a concert opened with a curtain, the musicians were already in place, with the conductor facing the audience. 

Elim felt the same sensation as he had in the previous years: the early ones he had spent beside these people in the trenches - building with some of them and hauling out others - and the more recent years, wherein he sat across from some of them in diplomatic halls, consulting on their planet’s revival. Without a doubt, this night was the reclamation of Cardassia. They were all here to see their work finished... 

Ekor squinted a little, blinded by the spotlight as he sought out Elim’s gaze, smiling. What an audience this was! By some unspoken agreement, it had been arranged that this momentous premiere night would be attended by Cardassians only. Oh, all the other nights would be open, and there was already a long list of dignitaries from other worlds who had announced themselves for the second night – but this night: this night belonged to Cardassia. Ekor had worked for this night so long and so hard, and now that it was finally there, he felt an odd sort of quiet tension. It was not in any way a bad sort of feeling, but it was nothing so simple as satisfaction or happiness. 

Elim tried to meet his master’s eyes through the stark glare of the stage light, and held one hand over his chest, to see if this might help. He aimed to cover his jewel encrusted collar. It was not covered completely by gemstones, but the metal itself was selected for its glimmering appearance, and Elim did have a habit of catching the light 

Before Elim could cover it fully, Ekor caught a blinding sight of the collar. Elim looked wonderful: sophisticated with streaks of grey hair at his temples, elegant but not understated – he exuded fierce pride in who and what he was, what he had become, what Ekor had helped him become. He was _riveting_. 

Ekor had commissioned the collar for him offworld, on one of his tour routes. Its use was reserved for special occasions, such as this one. It closed seamlessly in the back - Ekor’s assistance was required to apply and remove it - and while it did suggest the nature of their bonding, it did so elegantly, rather than explicitly. Those were circumstances Elim favored very much, and he looked forward to every chance he got to wear it. 

With his hand over the centermost gem, Elim caught Ekor’s eye at last. The contact was brief, but Elim knew all he needed to know; Ekor felt that same sensation, of duty and togetherness, of tension melting into the joy of responsibility. Elim felt that every day when he served his partner. Every _day_. 

Ekor turned to the orchestra in the expectant silence that permeated the hall. They weren’t nearly as accomplished as the old State Orchestra had once been: many of their numbers had died during the war, some had sustained injuries that kept them from returning, and a few had retired after the War altogether, with honours. Several, still, had returned, worse for wear but with an unprecedented zeal to work for the Orchestra, and to impart their experience on those newcomers who made the auditions, willing to serve but not necessarily well-educated by the old standards. 

As motley as the assembled crew of musicians had been, Ekor had worked tirelessly to bring them together as a whole, arranging for tutoring where he deemed it necessary in order to have his exacting standards met. It had taken time and sweat and tears – oh, always tears – but in the end, those who had pulled through were a passionate, close-knit group of people who would do _anything_ for the Orchestra, no matter how gruelling, and by extension, for Cardassia. 

Tonight’s concert programme was a selection of pieces Ekor had carefully chosen under the motto ‘Death and Rebirth’ – and he had personally seen to it that everybody in the orchestra was up to speed on each piece’s history, even those few that were not of Cardassian origin. 

One of those pieces was an adaptation Ekor had written himself of a Terran motet lamenting the ruin of a city in a war that claimed millions of lives. Ekor had felt it touch something deep inside him when he remembered Lakarian. It was a song about coming home after exile, and finding _home_ in ruin, and Ekor had felt so much in that music that he had written an instrumental adaptation for Cardassia’s return to the stages. It had been _painfully_ apt to hear it, knowing that the city in question had been on what history had come to recognise as _the wrong side_ of that Terran war. 

As the first notes rang through the concert hall, Ekor’s tension left him, and he began to work. He guided his musicians through the piece, from the most desolate pianissimo, to the crescendo of desperation and _rage_ , of railing against a fate more cruel than most would see. This was a music the old Cardassia would never have permitted on stage, but tonight, fifteen years almost to the day after the Fire, there was not one person among them that did not viscerally understand the agony of it. 

He saw tears in the eyes of some in the orchestra – they had suffered. But now, they were finally beginning to heal. 

Eagerly, Elim watched from the wing, and listened to find _connection_. This, he heard highlighted in the music, but he felt it so strongly within himself that he quivered. Everyone in the room was connected, now, under Ekor’s power. 

Ekor was marvelous, stunning, _breathtaking_ , in both his appearance and his movement. There was not a single measure of music where Elim felt him lag or weaken; everything was purposefully executed and clearly well-rehearsed by all involved. As he did with Ekor’s other displays of power, Elim willingly submitted himself, letting the music carry him wherever it wished. Even after the years they had spent together, Elim found - and without any surprise whatsoever - that Ekor still knew just how to move him. 

He sat and watched obediently, as if Ekor could see him throughout the concert, even though his back was often turned. And as he watched, he felt rewarded. With every sharp rise of Ekor’s shoulders, every intentional pause of his hand, Elim felt revered; he had seen this passion, and indeed some of these movements, before in their private life. He felt, despite all the audience and lights, like Ekor was seducing him alone. It was a transfer of responsibility, as this night was for the whole of Cardassia. When the notes turned somber, they were never hopeless, and when they were soft, everyone leaned forward together in their seats, feeling such _power_ in what they were... 

Suddenly, Elim burned. 

He shifted his legs and went on watching, mentally counting through the songs on the programme. Surely Ekor knew, by now, what hold he commanded over his Elim, but an affirmation could never hurt, and Elim intended to make it a good one. 

As the evening went on, there was not a soul in the audience who did not see, before their inner eye, the painful rebirth of Cardassia, expressed in music so raw and passionate they might forget, even if only for a brief moment, that they were safely ensconced in their theatre seats. There were none that did not feel every little step towards her re-emergence in their very bones, the small victories and the great setbacks encountered on the long path that led from devastation to this day of reclamation. 

Ekor shaped the music with his hands to the picture of Cardassia in his mind… but moreover, he shaped it according to his image of _Elim_ : beautiful and complicated to begin with, with a will to _become_ , the likes of which Ekor had never seen before. 

And oh, how he had dedicated himself to the hidden treasures that Elim held; he had accepted and cherished all the growing pains they encountered, all the setbacks and harsh, cold realities they uncovered. 

And through it all, they had grown so very close. They had come to know each other in aching intimacy, delving into each other again and again, never even _once_ shrinking from what they found. Ekor truly became Elim’s master, and Elim became the beauty he had always had the potential to be: proud, devoted, and safe in the knowledge that Ekor would take care of him as his own, his consenting property. He became Ekor’s in ways that Ekor had not believed he would ever have, and Ekor loved him more than his own life. 

As the music filled the hall with its rhythmic flows, with simple melodies that wove into complex harmonies and dynamics, Ekor saw both those beloved images in his mind – one of Cardassia that he shared with all the audience, and one, raw and beautiful, that he shared, tenderly, just with one. He declared his love with his baton for all to hear, finding the three greatest passions in his soul finally, miraculously united as one. 

He allowed himself this one, wonderfully subversive thought – that his home world, his vocation, and the great love of his life were one and the same. 

But only one of them would he soon, so very soon, hold in his own arms. Only one of them would he press down against a flat surface, _any_ flat surface he could find in his dressing room, as he entered him… and only one of them would gasp in pleasure and open his legs for him at a mere glance. Only one of them would wait for him, ready and in _position_. 

They did not _have_ a single ‘position’ – they had found a few over the years, and each would help Elim find his place, until the command to ‘assume position’ came to mean that Elim would simply express his readiness to be dominated in ever new and creative ways. It was so much different from just telling him to kneel, or bend over, or bow, or open wide: Elim knew exactly _what_ was required of him, but he had the choice of _how_. It was a freedom that Ekor had granted him after years as a token of trust, and Elim had honoured that trust with a fierceness that had given credence and testament to the strength of their bond. 

Of course, Ekor would still give Elim simple commands, expecting them to be followed to the letter, when they were needed – but when Elim assumed position, the choice of them was his, and he never disappointed. 

Ekor led the orchestra through the pieces of the evening; there were small flaws of course that Ekor heard, although they would go unnoticed by the vast majority of the audience… but Ekor knew that all were doing their best, and the music they created was as touching as it was passionate. 

Elim swayed and leaned forward with the music, mentally journeying back to mass graves, to quiet courtrooms, and to the first time Ekor had found him. He could not believe himself, his own progress, how far Ekor had helped him to journey in his self-discovery. He knew the concert order well, having paid close attention to all of Ekor’s home rehearsals, and the few occasions he had taken a novice player into his private studio for lessons, where Elim was welcome to visit as he pleased. As the songs progressed, Elim began to sort his plan for the evening, for the service he intended to provide. He needed it just as desperately, himself. 

During one of the slower, more methodical selections, he took up one of the bouquets he had been handed, and felt through it in the darkness. From it, he plucked an orchid stem, which he proceeded to curl and toy with between his fingers, to keep them occupied. He felt the soft petal against his cheek, and nuzzled it briefly, inconspicuously, to grace the center with a kiss. Then he twisted the stem over itself, making a loop, bending it tight enough to support the weight of its blossom, if he were to leave it sitting on his seat, in his place… He did exactly this, before tucking the rest of the gifts under his arm and excusing himself quietly, making for the back of the auditorium. Several attendants, recognizing him, asked if he was feeling well, and he happily engaged with things like ‘oh, just a mild cough,’ and ‘I need some fresh air, I think’ as he went outside. 

Free from the building, he rushed around to the rear side, where he found the stage door. He could not recall so much activity in his recent years - well, the _exciting_ kind of activity that came with frenzied rushing and clandestine meetings, not with genuine danger or fear. Using only his name - his relation to the conductor was well known by all who worked at the venue - Elim was admitted into the backstage door. He deposited his haul of gifts outside Ekor’s room, off to the side of the door so they would not later trample them in their hurry to meet inside, before making his way to the wing. 

The final piece was beginning, then, as he stepped into place between the stationary curtains and tried to decide just what to do with himself. There was not much room for him to lie back comfortably, nor could he see a table or chair on which to spread himself. He went on considering his options while he peeked between the curtains to catch sight of Ekor, waving his arms with such passion, drawing shapes that were foreign to Elim while understood with native fluency by the musicians. It was wonderful to watch, and listen to, and when he saw this degree of expression in Ekor, he struggled to be anything but aroused. 

The suit he chose for tonight was, of course, elegant, but also loose, draping over his shoulders at the tunic, and off his hips at the trousers, displaying the features he favored - his neck ridges and his thighs, respectively. It was of a deep grey shade, embroidered with little glimmering threads of lavender, so he would not stand out so obviously in the backstage shadows. He wore it with a thick belt of purple fabric, which he had owned for many years, and greatly enjoyed. This, he loosened, as the song reached its climax. He slid it off, and, for lack of a safe and permanent place to keep it, draped it over his shoulders like a scarf. 

Now, this situation was exactly the kind Elim loved, and thrived under: he was going to do something _discreetly_ , but not halfheartedly. He was going to enjoy himself thoroughly, while giving Ekor all he required. 

With the belt undone, he lowered his trousers so they dipped around his knees, revealing his slit, but remaining simple enough to reset if Elim needed to make himself modest again. For the same reason, he did not yet force his eversion. Instead, he merely wet two fingers in his mouth before spreading himself open, pressing inside and widening his seam with soft little thrusts. Ekor would be able to enter him with ease, and he always loved the unique _full_ sensation that accompanied being penetrated while still remaining concealed, himself. As he continued his work, he shivered and grinned to himself, delighted with what Ekor was about to _do to him_. 

At last, Ekor drew his hands together, and silence fell. Oh, Elim _trembled_ upon seeing that, the most pure expression of power, of willing consignment for mutual good. As consenting property himself, Elim understood it well. Ekor felt the power of this night – a power he held over his orchestra, but more importantly, over the audience itself – as a low, intense _hum_ running through his body. And when Ekor took centre stage to bow to his audience, he was thrilled and deeply, _deeply_ aroused to find Elim’s seat empty but for a single orchid that was placed on the apex of the cushion, for him to see. 

Elim had to be in position… it would be no good for him to lay on the floor; the exhilaration would be fruitless if he walked out of the venue on Ekor’s arm looking obviously _ravished_. So he thought about it carefully, and decided he would kneel for Ekor to first see him, and then he would stand against the wall, the one that hid the gathered curtain while the stage was revealed. 

There were so many things he wanted to say, to ask: if Ekor would take him to his dressing room after the encore to claim him properly, if he would be allowed to touch himself during _The Convict’s Lament_ \- a song they had made love to previously - and, most importantly, if Ekor had felt it too, during the concert, that indescribable connection that made them, _them_. 

The audience remained silent, transfixed in their seats as Ekor took his bow. It was Cardassian tradition that the first bow must be taken in absolute silence, and no one knew that better than the audience assembled today. And so, the hall was quiet as Ekor turned and descended the podium. 

Ekor walked the short way past the orchestra and into the stage wing with his music still echoing in his mind and his heart beating an expectant tattoo in his chest. 

As Ekor approached, Elim held out his arms to reach for him, sinking to his knees, blending two gestures he enjoyed much earlier in his submission, which gathered Ekor’s attention most urgently. That was what he needed, now. 

When Ekor found him, he was kneeling with his arms outstretched, his trousers down, pooling at his knees on the floor. The collar at his neck was glinting in the dim light behind the stage, and Ekor’s breath hitched at the sight. This was his bondmate, his _husband_ and property, and Ekor found him simply magnificent. He held his gaze like he knew Ekor expected of him, and never squirmed when Ekor let his eyes slip down. 

They still had time. Ekor was not expected back on stage for a while, and so far, the assembled audience had not even started applauding yet – an affair that could take long minutes on Cardassia, and that would certainly be celebrated tonight of all nights. There would be silence until, by an unspoken consensus that lay deeply rooted within the Cardassian mindset, applause would start. In turn, Ekor was expected to wait the proper amount of time – which varied from night to night according to the same unspoken rules – before he took the stage again for the encore. 

He took Elim’s hands in his own. For a moment, he simply held his bondmate’s hands, palms up and open in submission. 

They were so familiar now, after long years. They held the story of a life, the cuts and calluses and the softening flesh that time brought in due course. These were the hands that had worshipped his body countless times. They were the hands that Ekor had bound together behind Elim’s back for the first time many years ago, and they were the hands that had held and comforted him through hard times many, many times. 

Ekor loved these hands, as he loved the man they belonged to: deeply and devotedly. 

“Up, my love,” he said softly, steadying Elim as he obeyed, letting the trousers fall down to his ankles. Ekor pushed Elim against the stationary curtain, pressing him into the deep purple velvet that covered the solid construct underneath. Elim yielded. He pinned his wrists above his head with one hand and probed his slit with the other, thrusting two fingers gently, shallowly at first, deepening his penetration gradually. 

“Mmmmh, wet…” he muttered, careful not to speak too loudly as to break the silence in the hall, “you’ve prepared yourself, my little pet…” Ekor playfully withdrew his fingers, running the tips over Elim’s seam scales. “Oh,” he moaned when he found them softened and straining into his touch, “oh, how _wonderful_ , my pet.” 

Behind the wall, the audience chose that moment to start applauding, and Ekor smiled at Elim.“ _Listen,_ ” he said, speaking softly next to Elim’s ear, “can you hear how impassioned they are? They may not know it, but I gave them _us_ , tonight.” 

Elim’s breath caught. 

“Oh, but you knew, didn’t you, pet?” Ekor suddenly slammed his fingers into Elim’s purse, “you knew I was speaking of us, even as… yes, that’s it, little one, give it up for me… even as I painted Cardassia in sound…” 

“C-cardassia…” Elim repeated hoarsely. 

“ _Cardassia_ ,” Ekor whispered in response, and began to open Elim’s purse for another finger. 

“I… thought I heard as much, Sir,” Elim observed, gasping. 

Ekor’s fingers moved deftly, and Elim found them warm and smooth, as if recently oiled. Oh, he felt _luxurious_ tonight, and it mounted, and mounted. From finding orchids in the bouquets, softness in Ekor’s touch, support in the velvet curtain - all the way to hearing _applause_ when their loyalties were spoken, in hushed, impassioned tones. 

He could very well be applauded through his orgasm. He shivered at the thought, and at his husband’s enthusiasm. 

Ekor moved to nibble Elim’s aural ridge as he broke from whispering, and Elim felt as if he was beginning to absorb the praise. All of it at once, that he had been given that day: his appearance, his thoughtfulness, his _preparation_. 

“We have some time yet, little one,” Ekor said quietly, turning his head briefly to the gap in the curtain, from which they were safely hidden. 

Elim nodded and remained caught on the choice of pet-name. That had come up _decades_ ago, when Elim was searching for ways to feel truly _safe_ in Ekor’s care, and it had largely fallen out of use, recently, now that society was returning to its former stability and glory. Until now, he did not realize just how sorely he had missed it. 

“Mmm,” he sighed for his bondmate’s pleasure, as Ekor went on fingering him. 

Then, he heard the unmistakable sound of Ekor loosening his belt, swishing against the fabric of his coat as he opened the front fastening. It was left in place, then, for convenience, but allowing access to suit the couple’s needs. _Need_ , in fact: only one. 

Years ago, Elim would have thought himself pathetic for being so direct, but now, the truth was he was too delighted to care, and too comfortable with his keeper: 

“Mmm,” he said again, as Ekor brought their bodies closer together, “are you hard for me, Ekor’el?” 

His own purse felt loose and wet around Ekor’s fingers, as they thrust in further at Elim’s inquiry. Faintly, he felt Ekor’s cock rubbing at his thigh, through his undergarment, and the combination of this, the attention on his inner ridges, and on his hands pinned above his head, was _thrilling_. 

And then, of course, there was the applause, which never wavered, and only attested to their love. 

Ekor groaned softly. It was rare that Elim would ask such a forward thing, his sense of propriety strong even when he was half undressed and begging – to hear him now made the experience all the sweeter for its rarity. The truth was, he _was_ hard; although he had only everted moments ago, he had been hard inside his sheath throughout most of the evening, once his nervousness had abated. 

The thought of Elim in the front row, dressed in exquisite fabrics and wearing his collar, serving Ekor as Ekor served their beloved Union, had been enough to rouse him to the point where he felt his cock as an insistent pressure against his sheath as he conducted. 

With a soft smacking sound, Ekor brought his hand up from where it had been steadily thrusting into Elim’s body. His fingers were covered with his genital fluid, arousal plain in its copiousness and scent. “Feel me, little pet,” he said, releasing his grip on one of Elims hands and taking it in his own, guiding his fingers past his waistband. 

Elim’s hand felt warm as he gripped him and gave him a couple of light strokes. “Oh, _Sir_ …“ His head fell forward, cradled in the curve of Ekor’s neck as Elim rubbed his owner’s penis, making it swell and grow even more rigid. 

“Pull down my underwear, little one… just enough to… yes, _just so_ ,” Ekor murmured as he felt air on his cock, still pinning one of Elim’s hands overhead, feeling him arch into his body for friction and contact. Oh, they were both hungry for each other now, hungry as if they were still young, although both of them were passing the end of middle age. 

There was no way they were going to fuck standing up: that was for the young and strong, and they’d had their fair share of those kinds of acrobatics. There was no trace of regret in Ekor’s voice when he said a little breathlessly, “Let me… I want to rub myself on your seam”, and Elim guided his member between his legs, cupping it from underneath as Ekor found the wet, warm comfort of his bondmate’s sex. 

They would not find release like this quickly, but their lust began to mount as they felt each other, connected intimately, rutting together, the applause roaring just beyond the curtain. Elim’s moans were music in Ekor’s ears. He would never tire of this, he thought, biting, nipping at Elim’s neck scales, enjoying the way Elim pressed himself up close… Years ago, Elim would have had trouble tolerating being up against a wall at the back and pressed into a solid body at his front, but the years and patience had worn away slowly at his fear of enclosure. 

To Ekor, it had never been a hardship to accommodate and respect his bondmate’s hard limits. From the beginning, he had accepted that there were some things that Elim simply couldn’t do. He had never expected them to change, either, and when, after months and years, little changes began to become apparent, Ekor had wept. 

Now, they simply enjoyed the closeness and warmth, and the friction of naked flesh stroking naked flesh, making them both breathe heavily with arousal. “My love,” Ekor whispered, “oh, _Elim’ik_ … more…”, and Elim obliged, tapping his cock with his fingers rhythmically in time with Ekor’s thrusts along his slit. 

Elim had been thrusting his own hips, just gently, over the welcome company of his master’s penis. In its stiffness, he could clearly feel the outlines of Ekor’s delicate, most sensitive lines of scales and ridges as they scraped along his seam, and made his folds tremble. It was a simple truth the Elim enjoyed the sensation of rutting, and for Ekor to give it to him in such a soft and uniquely intimate way… it moved him deeply, far beyond the movement itself, but into the accordant mindset: he was Ekor’s pet and property. 

It wasn’t long until Ekor felt himself begin to coil, pressure building with each pleasurable touch they shared. He closed his eyes slowly, mustering the will to resist and draw back, causing Elim to groan in protest. “Shhh, pet, none of that…” He gave him a playful swat on his bottom, enjoying the way he squirmed. 

“I have to go now,” Ekor mouthed into Elim’s neck, licking and kissing as he went. “You will observe me through the spyhole, and you will keep touching yourself throughout the encore, but you will not evert or climax. I want you on the edge when I return, pet, is that understood? I want you aching for release…” 

With that, Ekor released Elim’s hand and stepped back to tuck himself away, grateful that his concert tunic was cut loosely enough in the front to conceal the fact that he had everted. Then, he spun Elim around so that he was facing the curtain, and gave him a couple more, firmer smacks, the sound melding into the applause wonderfully. “Touch yourself, pet. Fuck yourself with your fingers…” 

“Yes, Sir…” his voice lingered and crept through the darkness, but it was more than enough for Ekor’s trained hearing to catch. 

“I will have you in my dressing room, little pet,” Ekor promised, and then he was through the breach, too far for Elim to touch. But it did not matter, truthfully, because Ekor was a master of music, as well as of Elim; he was greatly skilled at caressing his bondmate through song. 

Ekor stepped away and took the stage again as the applause intensified before tapering off into expectant silence once more. 


	3. Encore

Elim remained flush against the wall for the first few measures of the song, having found himself overwhelmed with the sight of Ekor picking up his baton, Elim’s fluid glistening on his fingers. He considered every possible interpretation of _that_ , and rubbed his widened seam against the wall itself. But the contact was too harsh to remain enjoyable for long, so when _their song_ began, Elim stepped backward, turning his body to bask completely in the cool air of the curtain gap, to keep the best view of his master, and he began to do as Ekor told him.

Games of delicate balance were Elim’s longtime favorite. Such as this one, where he had to thrust forcefully enough to keep himself from being able to evert, but not so sharply that he would climax in his concealment. Ekor had taught him such a pleasure was possible, and it had racked his entire _body_ many times in the past. But he could not do that now; he had to listen and save himself for Ekor’s final approval.

This particular song built slowly into a conflicted melody, and from the first time Elim had heard it, and its title from Ekor’s lips, he had felt possessed within it. It told of a convict pleading for death in place of exile, but it had come to mean more to the two of them. It spoke of their dedication to each other, to the way their personal services strengthened Cardassia. Elim listened as the melody steadily accepted input from more instruments, in Ekor’s own adaptation of the piece, while he keened softly and touched himself.

The possibility of Ekor meeting his gaze from here was electrifying. Each time he turned to acknowledge a different section of musicians, Elim would seek his eyes out, hoping his own were still bright and glinting through the darkness, and he would open his mouth into a soundless expression of pleasure. A little gasp here and a stifled whimper there…

 _The Convict's Lament_ had provided a background for their intimacy several times before. The first time, Ekor recorded it personally for Elim to keep, and they hummed the memory of it to each other as the computer ceased recording, and they began to make love. They had gone on for hours, that day, and Elim found he remembered it fondly, even though it marked one of Ekor’s forced departures from the station. Then, some years later, they found safety in the confines of the melody, and Elim wanted to hear it when he was finally able to take Ekor’s length into his mouth without fear of entrapment. It marked divine sessions of their past, and tonight would be no different, not at all.

Throughout the encore, Ekor felt rather than saw Elim’s presence. Over the years, he had become so attuned to his beloved pet that he only needed the periphery of his vision to tell him exactly where Elim was, and what he was doing. Rather than let it distract him, he let the knowledge flood him and inform his music, and the song he had played so very often for Elim throughout the years became _ecstatic_ in an altogether new way.

His arousal never wavered, fed by the glint of Elim’s eyes, his teeth when his lips parted, and the collar reflecting the stage light with every little turn of his head. Ekor used his baton to caress and coax, to tease and titillate – and the audience was riveted, swept away by the passion of Ekor’s interpretation of a classic that everybody on Cardassia with the slightest interest for the arts knew as one of her monumental devotionals.

And that, it was, in more ways than one. Ekor’s breath quickened ever so slightly, a fact that would be mistaken by anyone who might notice it for exertion – and Ekor was not about to disabuse them from their notions. He relished every moment of unadulterated, candid artistic double-speak, of the rush of being able to provide the evening’s climax in entertainment to all present, no matter how oblivious they were to the hidden message in his interpretation.

This was power, plain and simple, and Ekor had always loved wielding it.

The melody built to climax while Elim forced his own aside. He dug his nails into the soft ridges inside his purse, and into the firmer one that ran along his sheath for stimulation. He knew precisely when the song would end, and he would keep strengthening his sensations, stopping just moments shy of eversion when Ekor bowed again. That was his plan, and his orders, and he carried his tasks out dutifully, and so full of love.

When Ekor returned to the wing after the final applause – a thing that lasted for dozens of minutes, and never seemed to want to end – his mind was engulfed in the heady rush, and all his intent was focused on one target only: his Elim.

He found him, one arm propped against the curtain, his mouth muffled by the crook of his elbow, the other hand working his slit, every touch resulting in an arch of his spine, and trembling and shuddering of muscles. Oh, he was well and truly on the edge of climax, just as Ekor had ordered him to be – and he was breathtaking.

“Master…” The word left Elim’s lips and went straight to his groin, leaving him aching and ablaze. “M-may I stop…?”

Ekor wanted to deny, to force Elim to continue stimulating himself, keeping himself _right_ on that very edge – but he knew he couldn’t. In a few moments, the curtain would begin to close, and then the orchestra would be allowed to leave their seats. No, he could not draw this out any longer.

He approached Elim from behind, embracing him gently. “Yes, my pet. You must stop now,” he spoke into Elim’s nape as he took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand away from his slit. His seam was wide open, ready for eversion, or invasion, and Elim’s eyes were glazed over and a little wild.

Ekor tenderly pulled him close from behind. He bent to gather his trousers and pulled them up. He was careful to leave them in impeccable order, shirt neatly tucked in, tunic covering the waistline. Then, he retrieved Elim’s belt and closed it around his waist. He took a few moments to smooth down Elim’s hair, knowing how much he valued a neat appearance.

But for the flush of his face and darkening of his scales, Elim looked perfectly presentable. They stepped away and into the shadows as the curtains began to move, and if Elim’s step was a little unsure, a little wobbly, maybe, around the knees, Ekor took care that it would go unnoticed by anyone who might come their way. Ekor’s hand remained in the small of Elim’s back as they made the short way into the backstage wing and to Ekor’s dressing room.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Elim found himself shoved over the edge of Ekor’s dressing table, his trousers opened and roughly pulled down, and then Ekor’s hand was back between his legs, guiding his penis to enter his body while he was still concealed.

He liked to stretch out his hands for his _master_ , and he did so again at this point. Ekor grinned and took his hands, intertwining their fingers before pinning him down.

“I was good for you, Sir,” Elim said. After their years together, he was entrusted with appraising his own behavior, after being given instructions. Of course, Ekor could always disagree, overrule, or punish, but he was smiling widely, now.

“Oh, you were, sweet one. I could feel you. Did you hear in my music everything I want to do to you? Everything I _will_ do to you, now that we are reunited?”

“I - mmmm—“ he groaned as Ekor’s penis passed by the ridge on his sheath, swollen and aching, stretched taut to contain his own hardness. “I did, I _do_.”

He wrapped his legs around Ekor’s waist, pulling him inward, gasping in delight. How was it possible, for him to feel young again, and newly bonded? He was being fucked on a table, and would be sore for days, and all he felt was _joy_. A promiscuous and enviable variety, knowing he would safely leave the venue on his husband’s arm when all was finished, and he would have praise and flowers heaped upon him in equal measure. This was a glorious night.

Ekor reached to the inner pocket of his tunic and pulled out his baton. With the point of it, he teased Elim’s chin, and Elim could only smile in response, feeling young and enamored.

Soon, he withdrew the baton, and his cock simultaneously, and Elim knew better than to whine. The baton was rapidly repurposed; Elim felt it moving slowly and gently into his purse, so small and untraceable in his current widened state, until it began to trace the ridge on his sheath, tempting him to evert.

“Ohhh, Sir,” he held still, careful to treat Ekor’s baton with the utmost respect, “May I?”

“Ah, not quite yet, my pet…” Ekor withdrew the baton briefly to bend and kiss his bondmate’s slit, sucking gently on his scaling, before reinserting it with the utmost care.

Elim gave soft, plaintive sighs as the tip moved around inside him. Ekor knew his pet’s anatomy well: that, if he angled his wrist just so… “ _Oh_ … S-sir!” He grazed one of the firm, wet inner ridges, tapping it a couple of times until Elim craned his head back as far as it would go, in lieu of rolling his hip – something he knew without being told, he wasn’t permitted to do while Ekor was using his baton on him.

“You are so, _so_ lovely…” Ekor couldn’t get enough of the sight, of all that it contained and implied. Oh, he had seen Elim’s desperation countless times, it was a constant in his memory, always there – and it felt so _right_. Ekor moaned with Elim as he returned the tip of his baton to the ridge that would eventually, if teased mercilessly, force Elim’s eversion. “Full,” he said, tracing the shape of Elim’s sheath, feeling his penis twitch inside it, “so very full…”

“Oh, _please_ …” Elim begged, panting, never having quite returned from that edge he had stroked himself onto, “please, Sir… I… _please_ …!”

Ekor adored Elim’s cock, its wonderful curve, its colour when Elim was allowed to evert and it was just so much relief. Ekor swallowed, licking his lips. “Hold your legs apart for me, pet,” he said, never losing contact with that ridge as Elim moved to obey immediately. He loved Elim’s cock, and he would have it.

The next tap to Elim’s sheath brought his eyes wide open, chest rising and falling rapidly. Ekor smiled and did it again. Oh, he loved his bondmate’s responses so much. Sometimes he would be loud, moaning, begging, cajoling… and sometimes, he would become very quiet, as if he couldn’t let any sound escape that would give him away – if he were ever asked, Ekor could never tell which he liked best: Elim’s surrender enchanted him. It was as simple as that.

“Let me see you now, sweet one,” Ekor whispered his permission, and watched him shudder.

Of course, Elim had everted for his owner many times before, in just as many different circumstances. In them, he always found the most appealing, dramatic angle, before doing as he was told. Tonight, he was well-practiced and obedient, and the drama came from the forbidden intrigue of their setting. He kept his hips still - having learned that lesson years ago - and made himself vulnerable.

His cock slid forward, flushed grey and stiff, guided by his own copious fluids. The scaling along the sides stood up eagerly, and the ridge along the base was swollen as well. The contrast of pain and pleasure these spots could provide… Elim shivered at the thought, and at the entrustment of it to his master.

He caught sight of Ekor licking his lips - one of his favorite reactions to earn - before leaning in and taking some of Elim’s length into his mouth. He pulled back without applying any friction, without sucking in, without even trying to force Elim’s cock to straighten from its natural curve. He was merely surveying his property, and was free to indulge himself for as long as he wanted. That could mean ‘indefinitely’ on nights other than this one, where the setting forbade it.

Ekor wrapped his fingers loosely around his own penis before aligning it with Elim’s, and taking hold of them together.

“We cannot be gone too long, little pet, no matter how I burn for you. We have guests to speak to, appearances to make…” he paused and released his hold, and guided himself inward, “I will take care to keep you looking as breathtaking as you do to me now.”

Elim was suddenly caressed at both shoulders, then held up with some force as Ekor began to possess him. It would be no good for him to lie flat and make himself untidy. Ekor was correct; half the fun was in appearances. And anyway, it never stopped them from climaxing… Elim smiled to himself, as he fondly recalled all the times Ekor cleaned him with his tongue, to his highest standards, matched even by a bath. The man was a wonder, and all Elim’s to stay with.

“H-hard…?” He ventured to ask, his voice quiet and gentle in the way opposite of Ekor’s movement. “Need you, Sir, please.”

“Hard, darling pet, _yes_ ,” Ekor replied just as quietly, gently as he had been asked, and then he slammed his cock into Elim’s quivering purse, jostling him where he was propped up on his arms. Ekor set a harsh pace, thrusting deep and fast as he held one of Elim’s legs up, the other one falling over the edge of the dressing table.

It had been… too long since he had use of his pet like this, too long since they had indulged in this need for frenzy, and Ekor felt Elim reach for his shoulder to steady himself his other arm trembling with the strain of carrying his weight. How could he have thought that their aging bodies no longer knew this kind of need? Ekor pulled Elim up to him by his neck, careful not to upset or damage the collar he was wearing, and Elim came willingly, letting his head fall into his nape.

“Yes,” Ekor whispered, awed and humbled by the gesture as he continued to fuck his Elim relentlessly, “so hard, my love… the way you _like_ it, ahh… the way you _deserve_.”

From the very beginning, Ekor had taught Elim that whatever he wanted, he could always just ask, without any shame whatsoever… an important, if sometimes painful lesson that took Elim some time to learn, but that he never forgot. Together, they had discovered Elim’s need to sometimes just be taken, possessed, _used_ , and once Elim had been able to admit and enjoy this _thirst_ , they’d lived through some of the most powerful, terrifyingly beautiful hours together.

“Th-thank you, Sir, _ohhh_ , thank you!” Elim gasped, as Ekor sneaked his hand underneath Elim’s tunic and shirt, scratching the rim of his chula. His face was upturned, eyes wide and pleading, and Ekor felt him shudder around his cock as he let his fingers roam across his chest, marking, scratching the sensitive scales that decorated his soft, slightly rounded belly.

For a while, all that could be heard was their gasps and moans, and Ekor’s soft, subvocal growl as he pounded Elim into his dressing table. He _burned_. He burned so bright and hot, hot as the Cardassian sun.

“Sweet one,” Ekor breathed, shaking, losing control fast. He had been hungry for his beloved all night, and he felt himself grow tight, high-strung with pent-up pleasure. He closed his hand around Elim’s straining cock, pumping it steadily, “I know you’re… oh, _yes_ , Elim’ik, just take it… I know you’re… as close as I am… but you can’t come, not yet.”

Even with his excellent and trained memory, Elim struggled to recall the last time they had been so desperate for each other. He loved to be used this way - it was the purest way he could relax, and, for his initial years with Ekor, it was the only way.

Back then, he was still learning how to ask for what he needed, and how to let go of his worries, responsibilities, his very identity. With Ekor using him, he could focus only on service, not on defending himself. All these years, he had been learning, improving himself to Ekor’s vision of perfection.

Only, now, to be… denied? Ekor had taken him firmly in hand, toyed with his collar and scratched his chu’en in the way he liked best, and then he’d simply _denied_ him.

Of course, Elim knew he shouldn’t ruin their clothes, and he was very close to doing that already. And he knew they would not break contact to undress; he could not bear doing that, once they began.

“Yes, Sir,” Elim said, stifling the last remaining bit of his reluctance. Oh, he knew his keeper would take perfect care of him in any case.

“Not yet, beloved,” Ekor said, withdrawing and squeezing himself restrictively as he did so, forcing the urge to subside. “Mmm, but soon…”

As he spoke, voice low and sweet, he held Elim’s legs apart, and crouched low to nip at his chuva. From here her crept downward, at an agonizing speed, until he paused at the upper edge of Elim’s seam, where the base of his cock strained outward. As Elim registered what was about to happen, Ekor made it into action.

He took Elim’s length greedily into his mouth, tightening his lips and laving the lower ridge with his tongue. Elim shivered and squirmed; his mouth was divine, and Elim always felt the highest honor when he was permitted to share it.

“Ohhhh!” Elim exclaimed, throwing back his head.

Ekor’s mastery did not stop there; he knew Elim did best with multiple points of simultaneous stimulation. So, he sought out Elim’s slit, warm and gaping as it was, and shoved two fingers inside. Elim had teased himself so thoroughly already, all Ekor did now was reach to stroke the ridges on the lining of his slit, as far as he could reach toward the base. For what he could not reach…. well, his baton remained beside them on the table.

Elim let himself fall back to rest against the vanity mirror, and offered his arms forward if Ekor wanted them, knowing better than to hold his head in place, or to thrust without asking. But he could certainly babble.

The habit was one he adopted very early in their partnership. He was accustomed to conversational evasion, and found himself talking incessantly whenever Ekor made a request of him. Since then, the falsified components had fallen away, but Elim still kept his mind and his mouth filled with words. Sometimes they did not mean anything at all, until Ekor heard them.

“Ekor’el, Sir,” Elim panted, beside himself with delight, “I was never whole before I knew you, I was not destined for anything… I was made to suffer, alone and I… you’ve forgiven my wrongs and improved my strengths and reversed so, so much of my programming an-and - ahh, Sir, _right_ there - I live to serve you, and Cardassia, and… we can now…”

Ekor gave a little grin and slid his lips backward, taking the wet, newly-released base of Elim’s penis in hand and pumping it at a rapid pace.

They had places to be, and the appearance afterward was a vast component of Elim’s fantasy, but he was not expecting his master to use his mouth tonight. Elim’s composure was long lost, by now.

Ekor felt Elim shake with exertion and the pure will it took not to _thrust_. He released the base of Elim’s cock and reached for his hands, intertwining their fingers carefully, tenderly. Then, he pushed down, sucking as he took Elim’s whole length deep into his throat until his nose was flush with his belly, teasing the edge of his chuva.

Elim gave a muffled cry and came helplessly, spilling his seed in Ekor’s mouth and throat, hips rolling beyond his control, and Ekor took it all.

He loved to see, to feel and to _taste_ Elim’s cock so much… he loved the exact purple-ish, deep charcoal shade it took on just before release, the twitch of his ventral muscles that helped expel his seed… He was on the edge himself, so very close as he listened to the sounds of Elim’s orgasmic pleasure, groaning around the glorious penis in his mouth. Ekor had to extricate his hand and squeeze his own cock tightly in his fist, or he might come just from thinking about it.

Elim’s words still hung in the air, and although Ekor knew Elim tended to babble sweet nonsense when he was relaxed, their pledge to Cardassia and each other touched Ekor viscerally and so unrelentingly that Ekor felt _taken_.

Oh, tonight, when they were at home again, warm and flushed from their reception and the glasses of fine kanar they would drink, Ekor would allow Elim to enter him, because right now, struggling to breathe around his still spasming member, all Ekor could think was how wonderful Elim’s cock would feel inside him, and he _wanted_.

Ekor gave a small groan as he got up from his faintly stiff knees, releasing Elim’s cock from his mouth in the process. He stroked it tenderly as it softened, but pressed the heel of his hand into Elim’s belly to prevent him from retracting already. “Oh, thank you, Sir, thank you,” Elim panted, “thank you for… your mouth, I… please, your seed… in me…”

With a soft kiss to his lips, Ekor stopped the words but not the desire, and he slowly slipped back into Elim’s waiting purse, filling it once more, slowly, maddeningly slowly this time, shaking with barely controlled need. “Elim’ik,” he groaned, “ _Elim’ik_ , yes, yes… oh, you feel _wonderful_ … I need…”

“Anything, Master,” Elim whispered, and Ekor bit his lips not to scream as he came, achingly, blindingly hard.

When he felt himself slip from Elim’s purse, Ekor withdrew gently, still breathing hard, and dropped to his knees. He held Elim open and started licking him clean, sucking his own seed from his gaping slit before allowing Elim to retract. It coated his tongue thickly as Ekor stood to bend over his precious property and kiss his mouth in the Human way they had long ago learned to enjoy.

Elim clung to him as he tasted him in the kiss. He sighed happily, thanking him again and again as Ekor traced the lines around his dear, beloved eyes. He deserved so much. There had been loss and hardship, and long absences between them, and now that they had established together and Cardassia reclaimed herself once more, Elim deserved only the very best Ekor could afford. Ekor knew he tended to spoil his pet with luxurious fabrics, exotic foods and extravagant accessories – but the truth was, Elim loved to feel pampered, and Ekor adored how radiant it made Elim look… and if ever there was any real spoiling, he could, and _would_ always correct him.

For the second time that night, Ekor helped Elim into his clothes, smoothing out wrinkles and draping layers of fabric where they were meant to be. “You’re going to be the most beautiful among all men and women tonight, my love,” he said, tracing the glimmering, lavender hem of Elim’s tunic. It flowed around Elim’s neck ridge, revealing a little, directing the gaze to the collar Elim was wearing tonight…. “Breathtaking, my love…”


	4. Reception

Their dynamic strengthened continuously, until the two of them were serving one another as equals. Not in standing, of course, but in amount. While Elim gave service of his body, among many other things, to his owner, Ekor, in turn, cared for Elim to the highest standard.

Tonight, he had helped to dress Elim in one of his nicest outfits, shiny and grey, and dipping down enough at his chest to reveal his intricate necklace. When they were both decent again, Ekor paused to stand behind Elim, stroking his hair until it was precisely set in line, and then tracing his finger reverently over the closure of his collar. It was a sign of extravagance as much as ownership, and did not manage to overstate their bond in explicit terms; often, when Elim wore it, it was freely recognized for its beauty, and nothing more if Ekor did not elaborate. This would depend on who they were speaking with, and whether Ekor’s desire to display his property overlapped with Elim’s sense of safety. He never pushed that boundary without gaining some form of confirmation, first, and Elim was forever grateful.

But the longer he spent in his role, the more relaxed he became, and he did not mind sharing the reason freely. He was learning to believe Ekor’s claims that he would be the most beautiful individual in a room at any given time, too.

“Thank you, Sir,” Elim said one final time, before Ekor took his hand and led him out of the dressing room.

On their way, they turned off the lights and collected what they could carry of the bouquets and assorted gifts Elim had been given before the concert began. Elim was delighted to clasp his hands around Ekor’s arm as they approached the mingling crowd in the lobby.

“You deserve everyone’s attention,” Elim said quietly, ducking against Ekor’s neck as they moved past another couple.

Ekor considered this, and his eyes glinted when he responded, in an even softer whisper.

“I will have _yours_ when we get home, pet,” he said, and Elim could discern his exact meaning.

Elim returned his mischievous gaze, and felt so… at peace. Warm, safe, and like he was floating along on his master’s arm, basking in the glory of his successful premiere, as well as in the unmistakable glow that came from their intimacy. He could guess his chu’en were flushed - at least the one and a half of them that were visible - and his hair streaked with sweat, but he did not mind in the least.

Oh, he hoped they would see someone they knew. In the receding war, with the population as weakened as it was, the odds of that were quite high.

It was refreshing to walk through a lobby full of Cardassians, all shaking hands and speaking at length about Ekor; Elim felt his passions for his bondmate shared and multiplied, not jealous in the slightest. All of Ekor’s attention was still his.

They fought through a crowd of people wanting to congratulate Ekor personally - all of them had long, wound-up speeches in mind for accompaniment - but Ekor insisted they stay to one side and allow Elim to pass without being rushed at, and he thought he might cry at the weight of the gesture. In this way, with minimal stops and introductions, they made their way to the reception area, where a special table was set aside for Ekor’s use, and that of his guest. The musicians and other workers at the hall knew of Elim and his status, although not all of them had personally met him, yet, and knew only what Ekor shared. Otherwise, he appeared clearly as Ekor’s bonded, even to those sitting across the room.

The reception was a lavish affair, arranged for by the Union’s Department for the Advancement of Culture and Art, who had gone out of their way to make sure Ekor’s preferences were known and met. Even though Ekor himself had never been asked about any of it – these things, apparently, were considered distractions and were to be kept out of his way – he was impressed with the work and attention to detail.

Impressed, and a little perturbed: though the Obsidian Order had never recovered after the Dominion War and was in fact officially dissolved, a general aptitude for gathering and efficiently organising information appeared to have thrived well enough in the aftermath… But then they were, after all, Cardassians. Ekor smiled and gave polite and formal nods to some of the assembled guests as Elim and he took place at their table.

This constituted the signal for the other guests to take their respective seats. As was customary, there was going to be food and drink, first, and time for social intermingling later.

They took inventory of the table. It was exquisite, and Elim himself felt underdressed.  Elim counted sugar-crusted dates from no less than five planetary systems, a tray of tea and savory pastries to accompany it, and priceless kanar with pre-Occupation sifters set to each side. The tablecloth was the only one of its pattern in the entire hall, and Elim ran his hand appreciatively over it as soon as he sat down, taking in the texture and grounding himself. Across the short and crowded table, Ekor smiled at him, and patted a clear space for him to set his hand on. He obeyed, and found Ekor’s over the top of his at once, as Ekor leaned in to pour the kanar.

They might still have interruptions, but not as many while they shared a meal. Elim studied a few individuals as they passed, to figure out which ones he knew, and which ones he only knew of, and which he hoped would stay long enough for him to visit with.

Ekor put his hand on Elim’s. “Look at all of them, my love,” he said, indicating the lobby at large with a nod. True to Cardassia’s predilection for grandeur, the space was more than enough to host the evening’s audience, tables and seats and abundant floral decorations, and still be spacious enough for personnel to move around in between. The sight of their audience, their little groups, the movements of nods and palms touching, it all took the words out of Ekor’s mouth.

But Ekor knew Elim understood. Like all of their generation and those following, they had learned to live with guilt as their constant companion. To be Cardassian was to be guilty, many, many times over, in ways that it had never been understood before. The guilt had, of course, always been there: a constant presence throughout their history of invasion and expansion, finding its expression in court proceedings and, more innocuously, in literary exploration that assumed it as a natural premise – but it had taken Cardassia’s surrender at the end of the Dominion War, the devastation and the humbling years that followed (and Ekor thought, probably the decades that would follow after both he and Elim were long dead), to uncover a deeper, truer understanding of it.

Tonight, however, was both truly Cardassian and for just those brief hours, free of guilt.

When he turned towards his husband again, Ekor realised his hand was gently stroking Elim’s on the table, almost as if from its own volition. He reached to let Elim taste of the excellent kanar, holding the glass up to his lips, watching as he took a good sip before setting the glass down on Elim’s side of the table. The flush of his chu’en that had abated somewhat as they had made their way across the reception area, returned at the public display that Ekor gave, and he smiled.

“Radiant, little pet,” he said under his breath, his gaze full of appreciation. “Open up,” he added, holding out a brandied Balorian date. With a slightly shaky breath, Elim obeyed, closing his eyes as Ekor inserted the sweet alcoholic fruit between his lips. Ekor’s stomach tightened at the sight, and if he had not just come inside his bondmate, he would have felt the uncomfortable pressure of arousal still concealed within his body… As it was, out of the many, many things Ekor wanted to do to Elim, _none_ were fit for the company they were in.

He returned his hand on top of Elim’s, who, with commendable discipline, hadn’t moved his at all during the exchange. As he looked around, he caught one of the young musicians’ gaze. The woman blushed a fierce charcoal, and returned her attention to the others sharing her table, but not without shifting in her seat.

It wasn’t so uncommon. Ekor had been propositioned a few times since his return to Cardassia, especially after the nature of his bond with Elim had become known in his circle of acquaintances and friends – as it was meant to be by that very same nature. There were protocols for that sort of thing, and he suspected that with his official return to the Cardassian stage, there would be more of that. Leaning forward, he shared a private little smile with Elim: “I don’t know whether she wants you, or whether she wants to _be_ you… either way, she will have to live with the disappointment, because I will not share you with _anyone_ tonight. Tonight belongs only to us.”

“We are a fantasy to her,” Elim said in a conversational volume, which the young woman may well have overheard. “I like when we are envied.”

He also liked when Ekor permitted them to have company, but this was understandably more rare, as their partners were selected from a small pool, deep with mutual trust and understanding. But now was not the time for him to remind Ekor of this - he had been spoiled in this nature, in the past, but safely, through a mutual friend who understood both roles well, and accepted punishment alongside Elim. Now, he recalled that time fondly, but did not weep on behalf of this woman’s denial; he did not even know her name, nor was he interested in learning it tonight. Ekor was correct in saying this night was all their own.

Smiling fondly, Elim accepted another date from Ekor’s hand, chewing it thoroughly while Ekor oversaw him. His care had no boundary, and he waited for the precise moment Elim had finished, and took a breath, before offering him more kanar. This, too, Elim happily accepted.

“You will have me however you like, tonight,” Elim said with a slightly teasing tone, consenting to Ekor’s control of his intake of alcohol. This was a fine vintage, indeed, and Elim was looking forward to indulging in its effects. The two of them had not really interacted this way, recently, with their inhibitions artificially removed. It could be freeing.

Ekor, meanwhile, sipped his own glass carefully. Oh, perhaps he would let go and have more at home, but it would not do for him to be in anything less than perfect supervision of Elim while they were out.

“That I will,” he agreed.

By the time Ekor had worked Elim through his first glass of kanar, the room began to feel tense, expectant. Of course, there were generally speeches and dedications, and the rest of the room tried to watch the head table non-invasively, to take cues to begin their own meal. Elim remained flushed from his drink and all the attention, and trapped Ekor’s hand between both of his own on the tabletop.

“They _are_ envious,” he said, pleased with himself and his conduct.

At this point, Ekor poured their tea, and began to slice the savory pastries for them both to share, splitting them between two plates and offering Elim his own utensils.

“My little one, you undo me,” he admitted, having pushed his limit of public display as far as it could safely go. That made Elim feel even more proud, and he tucked into his meal happily, with Ekor staring possessively at his cuff, and then at his mouth as it worked.

By now, Elim had no doubt he would be penetrating his master that night when they got home. The imagery radiated through his entire body, until he was giving his fork rather too much attention. He withdrew it from his lips and huffed, embarrassed.

“I have spotted several old associates of mine tonight,” he said, eager to remain engaged with Ekor, without either of them becoming too distracted again, “but I do not know whether or not I want to see them. I have not decided, yet, if I want to introduce you to them after the speeches, or if I want to get into our skimmer as soon as possible.”

Among these associates were Alon Ghemor, sitting amongst unrecognized faces at a far-off table, and Doctor Kelas Parmak and Pythas Lok, who sat together at a slightly nearer distance, having their own intimate conversation, by the way they bowed their heads together. But Elim did not know if it was worth interrupting any of them on the way out. Then again, he did genuinely like these people, and often found it heightened the resulting sexual encounter, for him to proclaim his status publicly before they went home.

Ekor caught Elim’s hand as it became unsteady, and took over the task of breaking apart a crumbly, fish-stuffed wheel of pastry for him to eat.

“Focus on me, pet,” he said measuredly. “We will make the necessary appearances - I will watch over you carefully - and then we will go. Believe me, I want to be in our home just as desperately as you do, and I will not let you embarrass yourself.”

Elim nodded gratefully at that, continuing to eat as one of the Organizers, perhaps a bit hastily, grew impatient and tapped their glass to encourage Ekor’s Dedication. The hall could not be emptied without it. Elim wondered if it would be welcome, or permitted, for him to speak on Ekor’s behalf. Ekor did not need it, really, but Elim wanted to serve, and to expound on his merits until the rest of the guests applauded to stop him.

“I will be brief, pet,” Ekor promised, having caught at least some of Elim’s plan in his facial expression, “so I may get you home and cared for.”

Elim was offered another portion of kanar, holding up one hand when Ekor filled the glass to the level he desired, and he leaned back in his seat to sip it while Ekor prepared to give his speech.

“Honoured guests, esteemed colleagues, dear friends of music,” Ekor began when the lobby had quieted down. “I wish to begin my Dedication by making a… somewhat unusual request: let me be brief.”

There were a few chuckles; Cardassian ceremonies tended to become excessive in duration – incidentally that was why it was custom to take food and drink _before_ the official part of the evening started – but Ekor had been known to be a little eccentric even during his first run as conductor in chief, and had not become any less so with age.

“This night means something a little different to all of us who came here tonight. Some of us live for the Arts, some are connoisseurs, some simply enjoy them – but that is not what this evening means to us. And neither, please forgive me for saying something so bold, is the reopening of this very fine venue.

“If we want to truly fathom what this night means, we may want to start with nothing less than our beloved Union herself, and the joy that serving can bring. We all have seen Cardassia burn, we all have seen her ruin, and we all have seen her _shamed_.”

All eyes were on Ekor now, and the silence might have been mistaken as oppressive but for the expectant, optimistic expressions on the faces of his audience. “We share that. And as harsh as this reality was, and as harsh as it still _is_ – it unites us as Cardassians. But we must learn anew what it is to _be_ Cardassian, what it is that we want to rise from the ashes. We must never forget, but we must also, each one of us, to the best of our ability, help _create_.

“I made a contribution tonight – but so did all of you who helped shape this experience, all of you who came here, all of you who helped rebuild, all of you who played their instruments tonight, all of you who _listened_. And if we want to know, truly, what this night means to each of us, we need only to ask ourselves a simple question: ‘what did we do tonight that helped shape the Cardassian experience?’ Nothing less than that. Because there will be more performances and more speeches, but we all know that _tonight_ is what counts most. I will not speak of this to any other audience but you who are present.

“The music you heard tonight is dear to me, and I hope… as do all of us who perform, but yes, _I personally_ hope… that it touched you and moved you, that it showed you what tonight means to me, and what it can mean to all of us. And if we speak of contributions, there is one that I am honour-bound to draw your esteemed attention to in particular, for how important it is to me.

“Because I could not have given you this music in the way you heard it tonight, if it had not been for my wonderful, beautiful, devoted husband and bondmate, the love of my life, _Elim_. I have never seen, in any woman or man, a will to overcome as strong and indomitable as his. I have never seen anyone as willing to serve as he is, and I admire him _deeply_ for that. His support has been my rock throughout the years, and he never wavered, never _once_ hesitated to do what was required.

“He shaped this evening as much as I did, and if you enjoyed tonight’s performance, then this is owed to him as much as myself.

“My love,” he said, looking directly into Elim’s eyes, “this is your applause. Thank you for your service.”

As Ekor took his seat again, the lobby erupted with applause and many, many toasts were given. He gently took Elim’s hand and kissed his knuckles, hiding the tears in his eyes from the audience, but not from Elim: never from Elim.

When Ekor was through with kissing his knuckles, Elim drew back his hand and touched his chest, feeling honored. It would be a lie for him to say the service he provided had not been difficult, in its many facets, or that he had never feared for his life in the face of his work. But Cardassia was whole again, and they were filling in its canvas together, all of them, and the hardest part of his work was over. Now, his service involved going out to events like this, and sometimes making special clothing for dignitaries and the poor classes alike, but never again would he need to work for _months_ without Ekor by his side, tirelessly digging graves and learning to build with bricks and mortar. Now was the time to plant flowers.

The toasts hardly caught his attention, nor his receding sense of hearing, but he focused on Ekor and learned through his face what he was missing. There were unshed tears and thin smiles, and so many little lights reflected in Ekor’s eyes. The pride they felt for each other was shared and strengthened.

At long last, with Elim’s mind in this loyal haze, Ekor stood and tapped his hand to guide him. Elim leaned in against his husband’s neck, as he often did, and spoke with confidence.

“I would like to say my piece to a friend, after all,” he said. “Only one, if you’ll allow me.”

Ekor granted permission and took Elim’s cues for direction, until they were waiting near Doctor Parmak’s table. He and Elim had spent a great deal of time together on rebuilding, and digging. It was not so comfortable to consider, but the more bodies they buried, the more the two of them uncovered about themselves, their past, and what could be of their future.

“My dear friend,” Elim said, stretching out his hand in waiting. Kelas turned and took it at once, between both of his own.

“Elim. I knew you would be here, but I did not know whether we might run into each other. It is a pleasure to see you.”

Elim kept his eyes pointedly downcast, but nodded to agree, and left Ekor’s arm in favor of embracing his friend, just loosely. Then he pulled back, and between them, and made formal introductions while Ekor oversaw him with warmth and pride; Elim greatly enjoyed diplomatic settings and thrived in them.

“Mr. Laset,” Kelas said sweetly, “you were  _wonderful_. I feel so blessed to have seen you, just as Elim has described, all these years."

"We  _have_ met," Ekor tried to remain modest.

"And I have seen Elim as he describes himself, and I believe I understand, now."

They did not chat for long, but Elim watched them intently, and felt greatly affectionate. He held onto Ekor’s hand, and leaned to his neck, and embraced Kelas an additional time before they excused themselves to flag down their skimmer outside.

“I could certainly hear you in the music, Elim, my dear,” Kelas said boldly, and Elim blushed and squeezed his husband’s arm.

With the responsibility of their goodbyes passed on to the dutiful Doctor Parmak (“tell them I’ve taken my Elim home to rest from the excitement,” as Elim was quite easily overstimulated nowadays,) they headed out to the street side, and gazed back at the complete picture of the Hall while they awaited their driver.

While some other audience members had begun to disperse, the couple stood in relative privacy in the welcoming outdoor darkness, their collection of gifts and offerings stuffed under their arms. The car approached, and the driver helped them pack their things, and Elim stared longingly at his keeper as they settled into their seat.

“Will you… feel me, Sir?” He entreatied, gesturing to his chula. It felt warm and stiff through the hem of his collar, and what could be seen was undoubtedly flushed. His nesting urge was strong, and had been for years, and he was in _love_.


	5. The City At Night

Ekor twisted in his seat so that he was facing his bondmate. His eyes were bright, alive with the need for touch, brimming with desire for contact and connection. Elim himself was radiating excited anticipation.

“Remove your belt, cherished one, and pull your shirt out of your trousers.”

Elim glanced towards the driver’s cabin, but Ekor shook his head. “Do not think of it,” he said, “do as you’re told.”

He must have heard an edge in Ekor’s voice, or otherwise reminded himself of his proper place, because Elim cast his eyes down and obeyed immediately. Ekor caught his hand in his own as he pulled his shirt free of his waistband. He pressed a kiss to its palm, reassuring his little pet.

“You know I would not expose you like that,” Ekor muttered quietly, and Elim nodded at once.

“Yes, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Think nothing of it tonight, my sweet,” he replied and slipped a hand underneath the hem of Elim’s shirt and up, along his belly and chest until Ekor encountered the warmth and firmness of his chula. Elim let out a shaky breath as Ekor traced the teardrop shape lovingly under his shirt. “Did I do this to you?” Ekor whispered, feeling little tremors in the swollen ridge beneath his fingertips.

Elim nodded, “your words, Sir… your presence when I talked with Kelas, your gentleness, your closeness even when you were speaking to others during the reception… your scent, Sir… I can’t help it.”

Ekor ran his fingertips along the rim of Elim’s chula, _feeling_ him as he spoke. “You have no idea how tempting you are, my love… you’re a dangerous man.”

Elim chuckled. “Never,” he said with utter conviction, before grinning. “An argument can be made, given the evidence, that you, Sir… are in fact the more dangerous man out of the two of us.”

“Oh? What gave you that ridiculous idea, little pet?” Ekor asked with a glint in his eyes. How odd it must sound, he thought, to hear us speak of these matters so lightly. “Because the last time I looked, I was a mere musician, dear. You must be confusing me with someone else.” He never stopped stroking Elim’s chula, straying a little up and down, tracing scales.

“Indeed not, Sir… For it must be obvious, to one such as yourself, that you,” Elim looked up and met Ekor’s eyes, “you _changed_ me. You did what _I_ could not, and surely any man with that power must be considered dangerous, must he not?”

“My dear husband,” Ekor shook his head, “it pains me to see someone so intelligent as yourself be so mistaken.” He let his hand lie on the curve of Elim’s belly, enjoying the softness of his flesh and scales. “ _You_ changed you. I merely helped you along.”

“Oh, those are semantics, my good Sir, only semantics…” Ekor raised a brow ridge at that assertion. “Because had it not been for you… had it not been for your patience, your love and your _power_ – I would have accomplished precisely _none_ of it. It stands to reason, therefore, that it was after all you who were instrumental to my change, and thus… the more dangerous man in this skimmer.”

Ekor’s heart sang with enjoyment at the challenges his bondmate gave him. Oh, how young he felt in that moment – young and carefree, and very deeply in love. “My pet,” he said after a moment, “I must concede this point, knowing how much it truly was that we accomplished together.”

“So we are in agreement that you are the more dangerous man?”

“Oh, I never said any such thing, as you well know, judging from that very question!” Ekor pinched Elim’s belly playfully, loving the way he squirmed.

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?”

Ekor smiled slowly. “You know, dearest… had you not brought up _power_ , I might have had to concede and hand you over the title of victor in this debate… or at the very least, I would have had to put in good effort to argue my case. But you handed me missing kotra piece on a silver platter: _power_. Power, my dear little one – had you not given it to me in the first place, I would have, and it gives me the greatest enjoyment to quote your words, _accomplished precisely none of it_.”

Elim’s eyes sparkled as grinned back at Ekor. They fell silent as the lights of the city at night passed outside, casting reflections on their features as the skimmer drove on. “I admire you immensely, Sir,” Elim said at length, leaning against Ekor’s body.

“And I’m in awe of you, my pet,” Ekor answered and kissed Elim’s grey-haired temple.

Elim leaned into the kiss, and Ekor’s hand remained on his belly, rubbing softly over the place he had pinched.

Their good natured debate occupied them until the skimmer was over the river bridge, dividing the sweeping circular roads of the arts district from the standard grid system built through the rest of the city. Now that they were free of the round passage, there was not much time until they would be back at their apartment. And, from their angle, they could see fireworks in the sky above the concert hall.

Taking up his baton from its inner coat pocket, Ekor aligned the point of it between the little ridges on Elim’s chin, and directed him to look out the window; Ekor sat against the door, so Elim would not feel confined.

“Oh, Sir,” he snuggled into Ekor’s shoulder, “it’s beautiful, thank you.”

He sought his master’s lips, and kissed them, and thought about all that had just been said.

Ekor’s dedication was still clear in his memory, playing again and again, overlaid now with the heat of their debate, and the glow of the fireworks.

Ekor’s hand slipped out of Elim’s tunic, and he patted his chest from the outside of the fabric, before smiling and reaching to tuck Elim’s shirt into his trousers again. Then he slid Elim’s belt into place and fastened it, although really, they were almost home, where it would be of no use to them.

Regardless, Elim smiled and accepted the attention, and continued looking out the window as they zipped through the cityscape to their apartment block. The combination of the high-quality kanar and the flitting lights they drove past made Elim feel pleasantly dizzy. He held tight to Ekor’s arm when they got out of the car together, and walked toward the building entrance.

Ekor checked over his shoulders as they approached the lift, and Elim matched his knowing grin when they found the compartment empty. They had to travel all the way to the top, but it was late, and perhaps they would make it without interruption. Or, if not, Ekor took excellent care of his pet’s appearance, and ensured he was never caught out in embarrassment.

Elim went willingly into the corner of the lift, where Ekor could shield him from view of it became necessary.

But they were perfectly tame. Ekor took Elim in his arms, rubbing and scratching all over, through fabric, making Elim mumble and moan his name quietly.

“Would you like me to tell you what will happen once we walk through our door, little one?” Ekor asked.

This was a well-known favorite of Elim’s: hearing, in detailed words, exactly what Ekor would take, and what Elim would be given in return. There was nothing more attractive to him than conversation, and tonight, the very idea shook him.

“Oh, I would, Sir. I’m not sure how long I can handle it, right now, without… behaving any more shamefully. But I do want to hear, Sir, please.”

Ekor held him close, breathing hotly against his ear, and prepared to speak, while Elim shivered in anticipation, knowing he would be perfectly safe and steady in his owner’s arms.

“I would freely give that power to you again and again, Ekor’el,” Elim said, fondly recalling their performative debate, and, unintentionally but understandably by the nature of his memory, the time he first proposed the enjoinment to Ekor.

They had both been afraid of being overbearing, then, of pushing the other away. And now, they were blessed by the fruits of that strength, the very conviction they feared the other did not share.

Ekor kissed Elim’s jawline intermittently, as he began to speak, while the lift approached the top floor.

“You will undress,” Ekor said, feeling Elim grow pliant in his arms, breathing faster, “because you will have no use for clothing, and I will want to see everything you have to offer… I’ll watch you undress and I will want to bend you over and take you, but… I won’t.”

Elim’s whimper caught in his throat as Ekor teased his chin ridge, both remembering how Ekor had apparently denied him in his dressing room.

“Instead, you will come to me and present your slit for my inspection,” Ekor continued, slipping his hand down between Elim’s legs, squeezing through his trousers. His chuva was as warm as his chula had been, and Ekor smiled into his neck, releasing his hold. “You’re wet already, my wonderful pet. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You love being on display… you love even _thinking_ about it, don’t you? You love how embarrassed you feel now…”

Elim swallowed heavily, trying to get his breathing under control before he gave a voiceless “yes, Sir…”. He shifted on his feet, trying not to press himself into his master as the lift continued the ride to their penthouse apartment.

Ekor stepped close so that he heard his pet’s aroused breathing very closely. “I’ll evert you,” he craned his neck to whisper directly in Elim’s ear, “and I will use my baton on you again to do it… and do you know how powerful that makes me feel? You will be absolutely helpless to stop me from forcing you….”

“Yes… oh, yes, please, Sir…!” Elim’s words were barely audible, but he might as well have shouted them for how close Ekor was right now. Ekor felt him shiver and gave him a steadying hand in the small of his back.

“And then, my precious one, I will take you to the rooftop patio nest, and you will sit down in it and watch as I undress myself. You will want to taste, won’t you?” Elim nodded against his neck, as Ekor knew he would – Elim had always loved to taste him, from the very first time they had been together: Ekor had found him once when he thought he was alone, scenting the spot he had been sitting on with an expression of utter adoration on his face. He had scarcely believed at first the enthusiastic attention Elim gave his slit, the little sounds of pleasure he made just being allowed to lick and taste him.

“Then you’re in luck today, my pet… you will, of course, ask, but if you continue to outdo yourself, you will be granted that… and more, my love. Because I want…” Ekor closed his eyes, imagining and remembering in equal measure, “I want you to enter me tonight, and make love to me outside on the patio until we’re both sated…”

Ekor loved the way Elim could make him feel when he gave him his cock. He had never been shy about what he wanted, and sometimes he just needed to be filled, sometimes he just needed to feel his pet move inside him, proof that he was alive and _there_ , and that what they had was real.

After they had bonded, it sometimes had felt like a very pleasant dream – especially in the time that immediately followed their bonding, when Ekor had been forced to leave the station for a good while… he had often found himself reminiscing, and caught himself questioning whether it all could truly be _real_. Of course, shortly after that, he had suffered a traumatic shock that had taken his mind completely off such questions for a good while.

But when Elim would be inside him, Ekor never wondered, never questioned, never felt anything other than complete, and although they did not indulge very often, it was a favourite with Ekor.

“My love, we’re there…” Ekor stepped back as the lift opened to their living space directly, and took Elim’s hand.


	6. Home

Elim glanced fondly at their decorated surroundings; this was his _home_ , and it was on _Cardassian_ soil. He loved the whole apartment, but the patio was the best for these conditions, by far. There were still fireworks erupting into the sky, to heighten their intimacy, and the gated railings were all shrouded with vines for their privacy, and the little nest itself was beautifully made and exceptionally comfortable. Feeling excited, Elim began to undress as soon as Ekor sealed the front door.

He rolled all of his clothing into a single pile in his haste, but still took aside the time to fold it, going to set it on the dining table where it could not interrupt them. His collar remained in place, because he enjoyed it, and wanted Ekor to see this gesture.  Then he made an effort to calm and slow himself, and returned to the entryway where Ekor stood with his baton out. Oh, Elim wanted to kiss the ornate handle, and suck the staff itself into his mouth, all because it was so vital to Ekor; it deserved the same care and attention.

But Elim resisted even _asking_ , and instead stood quietly while his master inspected him, groping down from his waist without reservation. Elim hummed at this, delighted, and felt the reverberations of his sex as it pulsed against Ekor’s palm. So intimate, so desperate.

Satisfied with his findings, Ekor nodded, for confirmation, and slipped the point of his baton up into Elim’s slit, between his slackened folds, already stretched and wet from all he had done tonight. Ekor continued smirking at him, meeting his eye level directly, as he felt around inside his pet.

“This is all my property, and I know it well,” he said, to the tune of Elim’s latest shiver.

Then, with ease, Ekor found the bulging sheath inside, and, along it, the ridge that would force Elim’s eversion. He pressed the baton into place firmly, and waited until Elim’s eyes were trained on his to lick his lips, and drag the baton forward. For the second time that night, Elim everted and stiffened at his keeper’s mercy, doing the latter task within the tight trap of his hand.

Ekor held him but did not move, merely waiting and inventorying him as he became hard in anticipation. He felt each ridge swell and spring to life, and drew a precise picture of how it would meet his own internal scales, as it had plenty of times before.

With this done, Ekor released his hold on Elim’s penis, pleased with how it strained upward on its own, after his attention, and preceded Elim to the patio door.

Elim followed the instructions without repetition, going to sit in the nesting chair, not ashamed at all of his nakedness. Ekor oversaw him with pride and, after Elim asked clearly, granted him permission to taste.

Ekor began to undress himself, and Elim’s mouth fell open in wait. With his tunic still on, Ekor approached and stood over Elim’s seat, widening his stance.

“You may taste, little one,” he said, and Elim nodded and obeyed at once.

Elim had always adored this activity. Cardassians were a romantic race, despite outward appearances, and their arousal could be defined in their respective cloacal discharge, if one knew how to read them. Ekor had always appealed to Elim because he was so constant and steady, two things Elim had given up on becoming for himself, and instead found dangerously attractive about his master. Ekor tasted the same tonight as he had the very first time Elim was granted this wonderful task, and he _loved_ it.

He was not afraid to voice his enjoyment, and although his tongue was occupied beyond speaking proper words, he would moan and whimper as he rutted his mouth against his master’s slit from beneath.  Ekor grabbed the railing to steady himself. Elim’s tongue soon became a constant pressure, a constant movement against his most intimate scaling, that weakened his knees and stole his breath. Elim’s little moans and whimpers seemed to set his very insides on fire, and his fluid soon began to dribble from his slit, only to be caught immediately in Elim’s mouth.

Ekor lost himself in the sensation of that swirling, lapping, _jabbing_ tongue, the same as Elim lost himself in his master’s taste.

The act sometimes made him greedy, losing track of himself, but he pulled back after several minutes, muttering, “ _divine_ , Sir,” and awaiting his next instruction. His words were spoken into the eager softness of Ekor’s swelling seam scales.

Fireworks shattered and shimmered in his peripheral vision, and he swore he felt them tingling over his tongue, and again in his chest.

On a mere notion, Ekor reached for his baton, and watched as Elim’s gaze darkened with something untamed, something primal. _Ah_ , he thought, so it _is_ true…

“I’ve seen how you look at it, pet,” he said softly, taking half a step back, and then flicking the baton at Elim wordlessly in a sharp upward motion. Elim’s eyes glazed over at once, hazy; he obeyed the unspoken order as if Ekor had used words, and Ekor _ached_. Elim got up and stood at the foot of their nest, cock out and curved up against his own belly, eyes trained on the baton. Ekor drew a little arc in the air, gesturing for him to come closer.

Elim cast his eyes down as Ekor dragged the baton’s point over his collar, letting it catch a little on the rows of gemstones, before it slipped downwards and to the side, over his neck ridge. Ekor tapped each scale with the tip, and even though it was only the barest hint of a touch, it made Elim shiver violently.

“Shhh, little one,” Ekor soothed as he took the baton and put the staff across Elim’s open lips. Elim froze, blinking slowly. Ekor saw his tongue move, but he stopped himself. Such a disciplined pet he had… “Go on, pet. Lick it.”

With a keen that seemed to come deep out of Elim’s chest, he set to work, delicately touching the staff with the tip of his tongue before moving it along the stretch of wood that crossed his open mouth. “Yes, that’s it… careful, little one… now, I want to see you give it the best of your attention. Lick, but do not touch my fingers.”

As Elim craned his neck to reach the bottom of the wooden staff, Ekor playfully drew it away, delighting in having Elim chase after it – but only briefly. The next time, he let him catch up, feeling Elim’s hot breath against his fingers, but no touch of lips, as ordered. Elim drew a deep, shuddering breath as he closed the distance and lay his tongue flat against the wood before dragging it all the way up to the tip.

When he saw how incredibly hard Elim had become from worshipping his baton, Ekor couldn’t prevent himself from moaning aloud: his bondmate’s cock looked painfully hard, darkened with blood, and it was pulsing slowly, irregularly under his gaze.

Ekor shrugged out of his tunic, letting it fall to the floor, which Elim wisely chose not to comment on, in favour of being led to their nest like a musician would be led through a piece. Ekor climbed up onto the mattress, and lay back against the cushioned rim, legs casually spread.

He beckoned Elim over. With the saliva-wet baton, he traced his chula, drawing little patterns across the ridge and scales that led down over his belly. When the wooden tip graced his chuva, Elim panted with unabashed excitement. “Oh,” Ekor said, tapping the teardrop ridge over and over rhythmically, before doing the same to the head of Elim’s straining cock.

Up here, he commanded using a flick of his wrist that had Elim scramble until he was poised above him, shivering in anticipation. Ekor turned the baton around, presenting the rounded handle. “Mouth open,” he said gently, pushing the bulb between Elim’s lips as he obeyed, “that’s it, pet… nice and wet…”

When he was satisfied with Elim’s work, he withdrew the baton and reached down to gently push the bulb at the bottom of Elim’s seam. They were both flushed; Elim was panting harshly as Ekor breached him with the baton’s handle. “You’re very, very aroused, my love,” he whispered, as the wooden bulb slipped inside with barely any resistance at all. “So excited…” He moved his wrist, pushing against one of Elim’s most pleasurable ridges, and Elim trembled, blinking fast.

“Do you like this?” he asked, fucking his bondmate ever so gently with the rear end of his baton.

Elim nodded. “Mmmmnngh…”

He bit his lip when Ekor withdrew, stifling a whine before it could break free. Ekor smiled, putting the baton away on a little stand by their nest. “Very good, little one… you learned your lesson… I’ll evert for you now, my love. You may watch, if you wish.”

Elim fumbled with his tongue, barring it behind bitten lips, nodding when Ekor made his offer.  Watching another’s eversion was a rare pleasure, and a task Elim took seriously.

By now, Ekor had lowered himself on their nesting cushion, plush and wide and raised on three edges, so they could feel concealed in their own little world while inside it.  He sat back, bracing his weight on his arms, and spreading his legs for Elim to sit between.  Without any further physical contact - Elim had not yet been granted any - Ekor’s cock slipped forward, and Elim clasped his hands together in praise of the sight.

The fireworks continued above them as Elim shimmied upward to straddle his master, lowering his body _just_ enough to put their cocks in soft contact, rubbing one another as he playfully rolled his hips.  Ekor made a low, possessive sound at this, and Elim offered his hand, to increase the pressure they both would feel.  Even though he was very much _on top of_ Ekor, his obedience did not waver, and he stroked them both calmly, loosely, while he waited to hear Ekor’s orders.

“Little one,” Ekor sighed, making Elim feel safe in his role, “I will have you inside me, now.”

Elim nodded, biting his lip again, while Ekor reached to widen his own purse for Elim’s admittance.  With this guidance, Elim entered his husband, his bondmate, his _master_ , and promptly saw his own special fireworks, burning into his eyelids.  He swallowed, tongue still thickly coated in Ekor’s fluid, and prepared to drive forward. And still, he did not feel at _all_ as if he had taken over control; he felt only that Ekor was rewarding him, and guiding him with simple commands, the way he liked best.

“Lay your weight on me, pet,” Ekor ordered, and Elim obliged at once.

He settled down atop his keeper, and received further rewards, as Ekor began to stroke his hair and kiss at his neck scales, teased and purpled from their brief encounter with the baton.  From this position, it became easier for Elim to roll his hips, and he did so leisurely, satisfying Ekor’s desire to _make love_.

And this, too, was something he only saw as amplified by conversation.

“Do you know something, Sir?” he began, not to debate, but to _worship_ , “several times, in our lives together, I have _almost_ lost count of the days?” and he knew Ekor would not find this fact offensive, but he could not stop just yet, anyway: “You have put me _under_ so often, made me relax and lose my need for _control_ , and I… am so grateful for that.”

Ekor reached for his chin, to turn him and kiss him deeply on the mouth, as Elim had long ago found pleasurable from his encounters with a certain Human.  Ekor had once admitted to finding it soothing instead of arousing, and Elim initiated it more and more, to calm his master whenever he had overworked himself.

“You have made a home inside _my_ perception, as I have inside _your_ music,” Elim said, when they broke apart, “and I can think of no love more profound than _that_.”

He held Ekor’s shoulders and pushed himself up from his chest, only briefly, to give several deeper thrusts, emphasizing his point while Ekor groaned a long list of his pet names, all in a row.  Elim settled down again, only to pull Ekor up into his arms, and pushed his way further inside, straining toward the base of Ekor’s purse; such a rarely-stimulated and wonderful spot, and he would try _everything_ until he had stroked it, with whatever help Ekor needed to provide.

Ekor moaned out Elim’s name as he felt his bondmate deeper inside, his cock and his words alike, all unquestionable, all true and so very _real_. Their lovemaking was slow and unhurried. Familiarity coloured their desire for each other as the world around them fell back and all their experience was shared in the contact of their bodies, the distant cracks of fireworks, and the small nesting space that held them.

There was absolutely nothing that he could say that would add anything to his husband’s words. He had always enjoyed stripping Elim – of clothing, of pretense, of words that held no meaning, of coherency, of the heaviness and complication that was being _Elim_ … he had always loved to take it all away, moments of unbearable lightness at a time:

Moments where Elim would be wide open, wordless whispers falling from his lips; where he would just feel, where Ekor would do whatever he wanted to him and Elim would submit, simply, easily. Oh, those moments had not always been _safe_ . But they were _theirs_ , and theirs alone, and they shaped their perception.

Ekor blinked away a blur of tears and let his body respond. Silently, he held Elim’s wrists and guided his hands to the backs of his knees, shivering when Elim caressed the sensitive skin. He loved so much to be touched there. “ _Ohh_ ,” he said as his toes curled with the sensation, burrowing into the soft cushion underneath.

Catching his gaze, Ekor stilled Elim, losing himself in the warmth and the throb of his cock inside him. Then, holding Elim’s hands in place, he used them to push his legs up until they were wide open, leaving no room for doubt as to what he wanted. “Deep now, pet,” he said, “bed me, little one… slowly…”

Elim bore down, stretching his torso over Ekor’s, burying his nose in the hollow of his chula, seeking out as much contact as he could while still being able to thrust his hips.

Ekor welcomed the weight, drawing him in until the head of his cock gently, ever so gently kissed the base of Ekor’s purse. “A-ahh…” he sighed, panting as Elim repeated the deep, slow roll of his hips. “A-a-again, little one… make me… feel…”

“Slowly, Ekor’el…” Elim answered, nodding, proving his words with the tip of his cock, “just… _slowly_ …”

“Yes, dearest… “ Ekor closed his eyes as he felt that gentle invasion until his mind began to blur around the edges, giving in to sensation “… please.” His own cock was trapped between their bodies, pushed against both their chuvas, and Ekor felt an overwhelming need to rub himself into Elim’s belly as he was gently, intimately taken.

And as the firework’s lights flickered overhead, and shadows danced over their bodies and painted their shapes, Ekor thought he saw Elim as he had been years ago. It had been one of the hardest days for him when he received news that Elim had been injured salvaging foodstuffs from an unsafe building that had collapsed with him still inside. Ekor had been off-world at the time, and when he heard that Elim had been hospitalised, he was frantic.

He’d run back to Cardassia as soon as he could afford, and they had made love together on the same day. Elim had been recovering from his injuries then, and he’d been so thin… never extremely so, but Ekor had seen angles and felt bone and hard muscles where Elim would usually be thicker and more rounded, and Ekor had wept for the man he had not seen in months. He’d wept for him as Elim’s cock inside him reminded him that he was still alive, still there, still _his_.

“Oh, my love you’re _magnificent_ ,” he breathed, grabbing him by his sturdy thighs, pressing their skin together, wrinkling and softening with age as it was. It was lovely, and Ekor felt himself grow painfully hard between them.

“I… oh, _Elim’ik_ , yes!” he said thickly, when Elim curled his fist around Ekor’s prick, pumping him in time with his thrusts. “Oh, yes, my love, that feels incredible… don’t _stop_ …!”

His pleasure was building, insistent and inexorable, and Ekor was ready for it. He wanted it so much he could taste it, and it tasted like the breath they shared and the scents they produced together. “ _Delicious_ …” he whispered, and Elim nodded as if he knew his mind.

“Make me come, sweet pet. I want to come before you do… I want to be raw when you peak…”

Elim regretted releasing Ekor’s knees, knowing how much his master liked to be touched there, but it became necessary to his service. He nodded at the new request, and moved inside slowly, deeply, stroking Ekor’s base repeatedly.

“I will, Sir, careful—“ he mumbled, willing himself to give all of his focus to the current task.

Ekor had taught him this dedication by example, as Ekor focused every bit of himself on Elim, and they had so rarely made negative progress together. It had happened, of course, but not often. In fact, Elim could not recall the last time anything had gone wrong, the last time Ekor had misread him, and usually because Elim had misrepresented himself. This was part of the pleasantly blurred memoryscape they had formed together, and he smiled to himself as he continued.

It was an even rarer privilege for Ekor to climax first, and for him to order as much. Sometimes it had been by accident, unraveled by passion as the two of them often were, but Elim was quite accustomed to being made to orgasm first - or repeatedly - before Ekor would seek his own satisfaction. He shivered and stifled his worries in favor of excitement as he reached for Ekor’s cock.

“Mmm,” he moaned as he took his master in hand, circling Ekor’s length in his fist and beginning to stroke.

Carefully, he moved his hand in time with his hips, and devoted all of his focus to Ekor’s responses, watching his eyes roll back and his breath hitch. How could he have this power over his master? It felt wrong, but deliciously so, and he thought he might beg forgiveness later, in case he took things too far.

But Ekor was still perfectly coherent, and there was no cause for worry; he had merely lapsed into some previous memory, perhaps an unpleasant one, but he surfaced again when Elim said his name.

“Ekor’el, beloved: I will serve however you ask me,” he reaffirmed, thrusting more quickly in some backward attempt at calming himself down.

He tucked Ekor’s cock against his chuva, bending his aging body into the uncomfortable angle, but being rewarded immediately as he felt Ekor intimately, pulsing and stiff. Then he cupped over the swollen ridge with his hand, letting Ekor have the sensation of thrusting within the trap, delighting in the renewed moans of his name, and the fluid that began to dribble over his fingers from Ekor’s straining penis.

“I’m so close, little one,” Ekor advised, and Elim nodded his appreciation. “So… in love…”

Elim had to groan at this, and reach quickly to stifle himself in his fist, or the words alone would have been his ending. Unwrapping his hand from his own cock, he returned all of his affection to Ekor’s.

In order to retain his role - and simply because he enjoyed this specific activity - he pulled Ekor’s cock back and pumped more rapidly, so he would release semen in spurts over Elim’s belly. He liked to be marked, as long as he could be cleaned afterward.

“I’m open to you, Sir,” Elim spoke his own dedication, and preparedness, and the muscles beneath his belly quivered in his anxiousness. “I want to have your claim.”

He wrung his hand around Ekor’s penis, as Ekor pleaded brokenly, and brought the uppermost seminal duct to rest against the sensitive lip of his chuva, so he could feel the release for himself.

Ekor reached up, poised on the precipice of his pleasure, cupping Elim’s face with both hands. His fingers brushed Elim’s brow ridges, his cheeks his lips and his chin. “P-pl— oh, Elim’ik…!”

His cock lay heavy against Elim’s chuva, the tip aligned with the swollen, hardened ridge, and Ekor was losing his mind with every little movement that Elim made. “Mercies… I need to c-come, pet, make me, please…”

It was easy for Elim to move, thrusting deep into Ekor’s body, rubbing the tip of his cock agonisingly into his dark, warm chuva, and Ekor was _lost_. He cried out, thrashing in their nest as he came and his mind drowned in a rush of white, his seed painting Elim’s belly and fingers.

“Elim, ah… ahh!” He sounded pained, broken, and he felt _wonderful_.

As his cock slowly stopped spasming, Ekor felt Elim slow down with him, wanting to give him time to adjust. But Ekor would have none of it.

“Don’t,” he whispered, hooking his legs around Elim’s hips to pull him in. “ _Ohh_!” His purse was sensitive and soft now, still thrumming with the waves of his subsiding orgasm, and Elim was still so hard inside him… Ekor tightened his legs. “Don’t stop,” he whispered.

Elim gasped, desperate to hold back his own release. “Sir! I’ll… won’t it… hurt?”

“Yes… _yes, it will_ ,” Ekor admitted breathlessly, feeling Elim’s thrusts begin to burn already. “It will…I want… it to hurt.” He kissed Elim’s lips violently, taking their shelter for himself. “I want to remember… always… as one.”

He wanted to feel as Elim felt, he wanted to remember a moment of perfect unity, but the words were lost to him and he did not know if Elim understood. But something in his gaze softened as Elim continued to move, trembling between Ekor’s open thighs.

There was a plea in Elim’s eyes, one that Ekor understood only too well, but denied him over and over: “no, pet, not yet…”

Gripping himself tightly, Elim staved off his climax, whimpering. “S-sir, I can’t, I can’t… please, I… _please_ , let me come!”

Tenderly, Ekor reached for Elim’s chuva, sliding his fingertips into the wet mess and rubbing gently, letting the raised edge slip past the pads. It was so flushed, so swollen that it felt hard to his touch itself. Elim whined, averting his gaze, fingers desperately clutching himself.

“…”

Ekor smiled, guiding Elim’s head back, his eyes capturing his pet’s gaze again, and holding it. Then, with loving precision, he gave Elim’s chuva a series of light flicks with his finger, watching Elim’s eyes go wide. “Oh, I’ll come, I’m… I’m coming, Sir!”

And when Elim gave up on his control and thrust into Ekor, it _did_ hurt, and Ekor felt every last contraction that ripped through his bondmate, and he felt complete.

Elim continued moving until he had spent himself, energy and passion and seed alike. Then, at last, he slipped out of Ekor’s slit, watching it as it trembled, overstimulated, and pushed his fluid to dribble down the sides. But Ekor liked to be messy, and it was rare for Elim to follow through with providing this service, so he looked on with pride, and let Ekor rest.

He settled down on the nesting cushion beside his master, nuzzling into the curve of his shoulder. This space was his to occupy, and he took full advantage of the protection while he caught his breath.

“Oh, Sir,” he moaned quietly against Ekor’s ear, for no reason at all, beyond his happiness.

“Wonderful, little pet,” Ekor praised, and reached down to stroke Elim’s chuva once more.

When Elim turned on his side, Ekor’s lips were suddenly within reach of his chula, and Ekor began to kiss it right away. He traced the rim with his tongue, feeling each little tremor that ran through it. They had the same tempo as before, in the skimmer, but the urgent heat had subsided.

“I’ve missed this, Sir,” Elim gave the unnecessary explanation, “just nesting with you. It… being together like this, again, makes it feel like we must have been apart for so long, before tonight.”

This was not precisely true, but Ekor’s work had still intermittently taken him offworld, and Elim was left alone in his bed, at his meals, and with his own duties. Now, with the hall open and the season beginning, and Elim’s retirement as a digger of mass graves, they could truly exist together again. This gesture Ekor had orchestrated was the best Elim could think of, to illustrate the way he felt right now. They had made it, together, and to the approval of their fellow Cardassians. He had a husband who loved him, and never had cause to leave his side again, as long as they both would live.

Ekor kissed upward, to his neck, and reached around the back of it to remove Elim’s jeweled collar. He shoved it aside, to the far corner of their little nest, where they would not disturb it any further. With his neck now exposed, Elim leaned in to be stroked by his master.

“I will clean you up just enough to sleep comfortably, my dearest little one,” Ekor promised, “as soon as I can move, myself…”

Elim did not stop smiling.

“That’s alright, Sir. We aren’t so young, anymore, are we?”

“I suppose not, but you could have fooled me.”

“I will happily nest with you, Ekor’el, mess and all.”

To nest was as outdated - and as vital to them - as their very bonding arrangement. To nest was to remain there, close together and scented strongly of their territory, and sleep, and feed one another, and make love when the mood struck them.

To nest was to build a home, and what could their night have been in affirmation of, if not that?


End file.
